


one and the same

by starmist



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Post 2x08 Spacewalker, and wanted to post this before 2x09 airs, i have had this as the beginning of a massive multichap fic in my drafts for a month now, it's already canon divergent bc of the promos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starmist/pseuds/starmist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her mother comes running from the gates of the camp with safety in her arms and tears in her eyes. Clarke can barely see straight, her vision blurred from tears, her heading pounding a rhythm she doesn't want to hear. But it's a better alternative than the mournful, agonised sobs she can hear drifting across the grass, clawing their way out of Raven's throat. </p><p>--<br/>Post 2x08, Clarke coming back to Camp Jaha. Sadness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one and the same

  
Her mother comes running from the gates of the camp with safety in her arms and tears in her eyes. Clarke can barely see straight, her vision blurred from tears, her heading pounding a rhythm she doesn't want to hear. But it's a better alternative than the mournful, agonised sobs she can hear drifting across the grass, clawing their way out of Raven's throat. She keeps her head down, eyes glued to the ground as she walks up the slight incline from Lexa's stronghold back to Camp Jaha. One foot in front of the other.

Clarke looks through the criss-cross of wires comprising the camp's gate at her friend crumpled on the floor. Bellamy's arm is around her shoulder, hand on her head, his mouth moving rapidly against her hair as he whispers comfort to the crying girl in his arms. Of course it's him huddled on the ground with Raven.  _Protector._ He knows the bonds of family better than anyone else here, knows what it means to grow up with someone, to have another by your side always.

She sees black-clad members of the Ark Guard jogging past her, following the path she's just treaded back to camp, down the slight hill towards Finn's pyre. Dimly, Clarke is aware they must be going to bring him back.  _To bring his body back_ , she thinks.

Clarke feels the tension go out of her shoulders and practically collapses into Abby's arms. Clarke lets her tears fall and fall. She lets the guilt and grief and the utter  _horror_  of it all wash over her.

Finn is dead, and all she can think about is how many ways it is her fault.

 

If she hadn't closed the dropship door on him, they would never have been separated. She had put her trembling hands on the door lever, pulled it closed and left him to burn.

 

Finn had been looking for her when he'd committed the massacre, driven by desperation and half-crazed grief at the possibility of having lost her. "I found you" he'd said, looked her in the eyes and smiled whilst 18 grounders lay dead and dying at his feet.  _This was for you._

 

She had been unable to persuade Lexa of killing him, of taking her instead or settling a trial. Maybe she wasn't good enough to be a leader, didn't have the experience or the finesse required to keep her people safe.  _Her_ people. Finn.

 

Thinking about his breath by her ear, the low grunt of pain he'd made as she'd pierced his flesh. Clarke had been the one to do the deed, to slide the knife between his ribs and let him bleed out over her hands.

 

Clarke buries her head in Abby's shoulder, arms clasped around her back, clinging on for dear life as the sobs take control of her body. Abby pulls back, strokes a stray piece of hair behind Clarke's ear and holds her face in her hands.

"It's okay, Clarke. It's okay. Let's get you cleaned up."

She pulls her arms from her daughter's shoulders and plants one on the small of her back, her other hand firmly on Clarke's forearm. She guides her through the crowds, away from the horrified stares and frantic whispers, towards the medical tent.

She sits on a cot while her mother searches for water, for soap - anything to remove the stain on her hands. Clarke is still crying, tears pouring down her cheeks, dribbling below her chin and onto her shirt - mixing with the blood from Indra's spear. She looks at her hands and rubs her fingers together. It's tacky now, the air turning it from a deep red to a crimson brown.

She realises she dropped Raven's knife somewhere along the way, can't remember if it was before she left Finn's side or as she walked past Raven's crying form. At the thought of Raven she feels her throat close in pain. She can't face her, can't look her in the eye and ask for forgiveness. Frankly, she doesn't think she deserves it.

Abby makes quick work of washing Finn's blood from Clarke's hands, removes her shirt and does the same to the minor self-inflicted spear wound. She hands Clarke a new shirt (well, it's still faded with holes in the collar, but it's clean, at least) and helps her dress. Then she's lying down, eyes staring up at the tent's roof. There is a soothing hand wiping away the wetness at her eyes and another stroking her hair gently.

Clarke is still shaking, her eyes stinging from the continuous flow of tears brimming over with each wave of anger and grief and guilt she feels. Her head pounding, throat painful and sharp when she swallows.  _How can this be real? How can Finn be dead? How am I a murderer?_ Her contemplation is interrupted by a slight pinch on her arm and sees Abby remove a needle a moment later. Clarke opens her mouth to protest, to ask what she's doing when Abby holds her hand up to stop her.

"It's to help calm you down, Clarke. You need to rest."

Her words are already hazy, muddied in her head. She can feel her eyes drooping within minutes, her breath slowing down and evening out for the first time since she left Finn's body at Lexa's camp. She hiccups as her cries lessen, draws a ragged breath as she closes her eyes. She feels a sick twinge in her stomach at her last thought before oblivion takes her:

Her mother had killed her father.

And now she had killed Finn.

They were one and the same.

Maybe it was something in the Griffin bloodline – to leave pain and death and grief in your shadow so you (and your people) could stand in the sun for another day. Clarke remembers telling Jaha she would never understand the justification behind what her mother had done to her father, but now she does.

She does and she wishes (she wishes so hard there is a physical ache in her chest) that she didn't.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out life as the first chapter of a massive multichap Bellamy x Clarke fic I had outlined, and has been sitting in my drafts for ages. I think this will stay a oneshot indefinitely, just wanted to post it as 2x09 airs tonight and knew it would feel redundant to me afterwards. I just feel so sad for Clarke and Raven, ugh. Have tried to capture the mixture of guilt and grief Clarke must be feeling, but who knows. Un-beta'd and barely proofread, sorry! Also a note on the end - if you hadn't guessed it was meant to be Abby given Clarke a mild sedative to calm her down. Comments/constructive criticisms/kudos always appreciated!


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